Pictures
by Whelpie
Summary: An artist with a fear of her tools goes to see a therapist, and explain the reasons for her discomfort.


The light was lazily pouring through the window in the therapist's office. Dr. Lee looked over the patient's records. It was not her first therapy session, but it was going to be her first session with him. Apparently, several previous therapists had requested to be taken off her case, with various reasons given as to why. He walked over to pull down the blinds. One self-admitted to breaking patient confidentiality, one simply did not believe that she would be able to provide the proper care, and so on. It was quite bizarre, but the nature of the whole affair was exactly why Lee was so interested in this case. The woman's name was Amber Jones, and she had developed a deadly fear of any sort of artistic implement. Paintbrushes, pencils, paint, anything of the sort. Lee had been strictly advised to do his notes on a laptop, rather than with a pen as he normally would. It wasn't a huge deal, though it certainly amused him slightly. While the woman's fear was unusual, he had a hard time seeing why so many had given up before him. It did make him slightly wary, of course, but he was experienced enough that it didn't concern him too much. Three o'clock on the dot, she walked into his office. She seemed normal enough, a short, thin woman with slightly greying hair. One might even describe her as "mousy", if they felt so inclined. She seemed timid, but otherwise fairly normal.

"Please," Dr. Lee said to her. "Have a seat, Ms. Jones."

She thanked him meekly and took a seat in the chair he had indicated. Dr. Lee typed a few words on his laptop.

"So, Ms. Jones, would you mind explaining what brings you here today? Just to make sure that we're all up to speed."

Ms. Jones nodded, then seemingly breathed in and out for a few seconds, before she began.

"Well, Dr… Lee, is it? That's what I was told, at any rate."

"That is correct."

"Well, Dr. Lee, you see, I have developed a terrible fear of certain implements, and it was believed that I should seek treatment for this affliction."

Dr. Lee rubbed his chin. "And do you disagree with that assessment?"

Ms. Jones shifted uncomfortably. "Well, Doctor, I quite frankly don't quite know what to believe. I suppose it is a rather unusual phobia, and it is certainly something that not many people share."

Dr. Lee typed some more. "Well, that would certainly be correct, but that doesn't mean that your fear doesn't have a rational explanation. Would you care to explain to me what it is about paintbrushes and pencils that fills you with such dread, if you can?"

"Well," Ms. Jones said, her fingers tightening around her knees. "I suppose if I had to explain it in simple terms, I am rather scared of what I might make if given such things."

Dr. Lee raised his brow. That certainly wasn't mentioned in any of the journals he had received.

"Could you elaborate on that, Ms. Jones?"

Ms. Jones' knuckles were turning white. "I have these terrible nightmares, you see, and I can barely remember them in the morning. Indeed, once some time passes, I tend to forget them altogether. But one morning, I decided to take a piece of paper and a pencil, and draw what I had dreamt of to the best of my recollection."

"And what did you end up drawing?"

The woman shook her head. "I don't know. I destroyed the drawing immediately. I don't want to… I don't want to remember it."

"I see," Dr. Lee said, typing away. "And is this why you fear going near any sort of artist's tools?"

Ms. Jones seemed to be shaking slightly. "If only, Doctor. No. I tried to, I tried to forget about the horrible things I had put on that drawing, and get on with my life. And for a while, it worked. Things were fine. I still didn't like going home alone, at night, but I mostly got over it. It all passed."

"Then what happened?"

"One day, while I was in a meeting at work, I was taking notes with a pen and a pad of paper. It was warm, and I was dozing off ever so slightly. When I managed to catch myself and wake up properly, I looked down at the pad, and there was something there."

"The same thing as you had seen in your nightmare?"

Ms. Jones shook her head. "No, it was something else. I couldn't forget this thing, it was much more clearly defined. It was some small, awful creature, its head covered in eyes. Its mouth was round like that of a leech, but it mostly just looked like some sort of deformed baby with elongated limbs and that awful head. And, I noticed after I had looked for a bit, it looked like it had some kind of wings."

Dr. Lee typed furiously, trying to take down as much as possible. "So what did you do, then? I assume you destroyed this picture like the last one?"

"Yes," Ms. Jones said. She pulled a napkin from her pocket and coughed into it. "I did. But I couldn't forget the creature. Its visage was etched into my mind. When I looked at the picture, it seemed as if the thing was staring right at me. I had to excuse myself from the meeting, and go home for the day."

"Understandable." Dr. Lee pushed up his glasses with his index finger. "So what happened next?"

"I was scared, for a while. But I felt this, this inescapable urge. To paint something. To give these thoughts an outlet, by painting them and then destroying the paintings. So I bought a canvas, I bought the required tools, and I spent Saturday making a painting of the creature. Only…"

The doctor raised his eyebrows. "Only..?"

"Only, I didn't paint the same creature again. I tried, but I could not. Instead, I merely sat myself in front of the canvas, and tried again and again to make something, but I failed. That is, until I eventually got tired, and my mind started to wander. I had this sort of temporary lapse in memory, and when I "woke up", so to speak, there was something on the canvas."

"The creature from before?"

Ms. Jones thought for a few seconds before replying. "Yes and no."

The doctor did not respond, but cocked his head inquisitively. Ms. Jones continued.

"Well, what I could see on the canvas was not the creature from before, no. It was some, some sort of nightmarish horse-beast, its skin stretched and filled with holes, its eyes black and its mouth filled with sharp teeth. Through the holes in its skin, I could make out its muscles and bones. It seemed like a walking corpse, mad with bloodlust. And like the other one, it was staring right at me."

"I see," Dr. Lee said. "But what did you mean by "Yes and no" when I asked, whether the creature on the canvas was the same?"

"Well, the creature depicted on the canvas was not the same. But the creature from before was sitting on the canvas."

Dr. Lee went quiet for a few seconds before he typed some more. "I see. It was sitting there, in physical form?"

"Yes."

"And this did not unnerve you?"

Ms. Jones let out a short, barking laugh. "Are you kidding? I was terrified! But eventually, I realised that it wasn't attacking me. It was simply observing me."

"That's still quite the restrained reaction to have."

"If you had experienced my nightmares Doctor, then believe me, such things would not cause in you the same response as they would now."

Dr. Lee nodded. "I suppose I cannot argue with that. So what happened, then?"

"Well, the creature disappeared eventually. For a day or so. Then it came back. Only, this time, its mouth was covered in blood, and its little claws too."

Dr. Lee stopped typing. "Oh?"

Ms. Jones took a deep breath. "I later found out that some poor man had been murdered in a local park. Him and his dog. Both of them dead, covered in round bike marks and scratches."

"That's… Quite unusual, I must say."

Ms. Jones glared at Dr. Lee. "You don't believe me."

"Well, Ms. Jones," he said. "I must admit, your story is rather incredulous. But you'll note that despite my incredulity, I am still here, listening to you."

She drummed on her knees with her palms. "So you are. It's alright, I suppose. I wouldn't believe me either."

"Well, Ms. Jones, in any event, I am here to help you."

"And I certainly appreciate that."

Dr. Lee smiled. "I am glad to hear it. So was this what caused your fear of artist's tools?"

"Not immediately," Ms. Jones said, biting her thumb gently. "No, I actually went on something of an artistic spree, if you will. I started painting and drawing a whole lot, you see. Every time my attention wandered, these things sprang out of my mind, as if they had been confined in there all along. Dozens of horrifying, bizarre creatures."

Mr. Lee tapped his fingers on his laptop. "So what made you stop? Were there more deaths?"

"That's just it," she said. "After the first creature, I didn't see any more of my creations show up. But I scoured newspapers across the country, and there were more bizarre murders. I created a creature with tentacles all over its body, a young woman is found crushed to death with wounds from suction cups all over. I created a massive spider with venomous pincers, a young boy was found injected with some sort of corrosive venom and half-eaten. But these were happening all over the country."

"And yet you continued."

"I made a living from it," Ms. Jones admitted. "For a while, at least. I convinced myself that it wasn't because of me, that the murders were mere coincidences. That's what my agent told me, at least. The paintings were selling amazingly well."

"I see," Dr. Lee said. "I supposed I would think the same in his shoes. So what happened, then?"

Ms. Jones became quiet for a few seconds. She seemed to be close to tears. Dr. Lee looked at her with a weak smile.

"It's fine if you don't want to talk about it. We're nearly done for today, anyways…"

"They started dying," she said all of a sudden.

"Who did?"

"The people who bought the paintings. At first, it was random people, but as time passed, the people who owned the paintings began dying. Horrible deaths. I knew it was my fault. I knew it."

"And that's when you stopped painting?" Dr. Lee asked.

Ms. Jones nodded.

"And you haven't done it since?"

She shook her head. "Not intentionally. But my, my agent, he told me to talk to someone, to get help in getting over my fears. So, that's why I'm here. To get help."

"I see," Dr. Lee said. "Well, I am certain that we will get over this, Ms. Jones, you have no need to worry. We'll figure this out. But we are out of time for today. How does same time next Thursday sound to you?"

"Good."

"That's good." He led her over to the door. "And if there is anything else, Ms. Jones, please do not hesitate to call, alright? I am here to help you."

She nodded vigorously, tears quietly streaming down her face. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

As Dr. Lee closed the door, he looked over his office. He sat down at his desk and finished his notes. There was certainly a lot to go through here, but he was hopeful that he would be able to help this woman. As he put his head in his hands and relaxed for a second, he noticed something on the floor. A scrap of paper. He went over to pick it up. A napkin, from a nearby café. She must have gone there before coming here. But on the other side of the napkin, something had been scribbled. A creature that looked like a massive centipede, with sharp pincers and a maw dripping with venom. It was wrapped around some poor creature, seemingly in the midst of devouring it. If this was one of her drawings, they certainly were horrifying. He would return it to her during their next session. He turned to his desk, and heard a loud snorting sound behind him.


End file.
